


Side Effects

by LeaXIII



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeaXIII/pseuds/LeaXIII
Summary: Jessica hasn't been sleeping well recently.





	

It’s three in the morning and you’re still awake. 

It’s no surprise; you’ve never been a stranger to sleepless nights, and the floor of your new apartment isn’t exactly comfortable to lay on, no matter how many blankets you stack beneath yourself. Still, it’s a welcome change in scenery, to have a place that you can see and touch and call _yours_ as opposed to the revolving door of hotel rooms from the past several months, even if you don’t actually have a bed of your own in which to sleep just yet.

So why, on this night when you feel more at-home and at-ease than you have in years – physical comfort notwithstanding – are you still awake at three in the morning?

It must be the weather, you decide, pulling the heavy comforter closer to your chin. Even with the heater on, the nearly-empty apartment doesn’t do much to keep the frigid November winds from sneaking in.

You shift a bit, and the cold brushes your skin like a ghostly hand. For an instant, you see your breath pushing fog through the air in the darkness, the constant drone of distant crickets providing an almost mesmerizing background static to the sound of both of your footsteps echoing on dusty concrete.

With a shudder, you open your eyes, shaking off the daydream. That’s all it is; a side effect. You hear the words ringing in your ears, can still see the way Tim cringes a bit as he says them, his tired eyes making any elaboration unnecessary.

You pull the blankets over your head and close your eyes again, cursing your exhausted brain for giving you daydreams instead of normal night dreams, and pondering over which one is worse.

* * *

 

It’s nine in the evening and you can’t tell whether you’re awake or sleepwalking.

The fact that you don’t seem to be alone in your apartment suggests that it’s the latter, since you don’t have much company these days. But the fact that it’s Amy makes you want to believe that it’s the former.

You can’t think of what to say to her, so you let her talk instead, and she tells you about work, about school, about her new place. You nod along, smiling politely and asking questions. You want to know all about the classes she’s taking, about the new puppy her friend adopted, about the great restaurant she just discovered. Briefly, you want to ask her about her boyfriend; the thought catches in your throat, tugs at a memory you don’t want to unravel, so you swallow the question and she turns on the TV instead.

You don’t own a TV.

* * *

 

It’s one in the afternoon and you’re asleep.

Your appointment was in the morning, and today is your day off work. You didn’t sleep last night, and you don’t remember the morning, but you remember climbing into bed, and you know that you’re dreaming.

You’re dreaming about _him_ again, the boy with the tired eyes, and it’s like looking in a mirror. Even in a dream, his name is right on the tip of your tongue, you know his name _you know it_ , but you just can’t place it. Instead, he’s just _the_ _boy_ , because _man_ sounds odd to your ears even though he’s probably older than you are.

He’s standing in front of you, and there’s something behind him. You aren’t sure what it is; he’s hiding it from you, or maybe shielding you from it.

There are a million questions on your lips, but before you can get a word out, your phone is ringing, pulling you reluctantly back to consciousness.

Tim sounds more tired than you’ve ever heard him. Not that you’ve really talked to him enough to have a detailed frame of reference for his emotional state; the majority of the times that he calls you, it’s just to check on you, see if you’re alright, if you need anything, and this one doesn’t break the pattern.

But there’s a pause, right before where he normally ends the call, and you want to ask if _he’s_ alright this time.

You don’t. Your mind is still foggy from the lack of sleep, and by the time the words form in your mouth, the call is disconnected.

You stare at the phone for a moment, before setting it down and pulling the blankets back over your head. It’s still November, and it’s still too cold to think too hard about any of the things you can’t be sure are real.

You drift back into sleep, shaking off the image of those tired, green-gray eyes.

It’s just a daydream, after all.


End file.
